


baby, let me love you goodbye

by ohpleaselarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (but not really obv), 2015 era, Age play sort of, Breathplay, Crying During Sex, Daddy Kink, Denial, Fingerfucking, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Restraining, Top!Harry, Unrequited Love, bottom!Louis, harry calls louis baby a lot, to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:47:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28709163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohpleaselarry/pseuds/ohpleaselarry
Summary: Daddy, he’d almost said. Daddy. That’s, that’s porn shit. Dirty and as far as he’d always thought, cheap and vaguely gross. He’s never wanted to say it, let alone even thought it. He doesn’t even know why he almost did. Isn’t sure which part made his fuzzed brain throw it out.He can’t think of himself genuinely saying something like that. Not in bed. Not with Harry.Not with Harry, fuck. His—his Harry. His friend with benefits?ORLouis almost calls Harry daddy. Cue denial, feelings, and way too much dirty talk.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 191





	baby, let me love you goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be shameless PWP bc I’ve been craving to write daddy kink as it’s been a hot minute, but I accidentally added a bit of plot and a lot more fluff than intended. I blame the snow storm outside my flat rn making me feel all cozy and sweet. 
> 
> For the sake of the story, let’s just pretend Z left the band before the last tour and not two months in. Just because I don’t feel like writing all that shit in lmao
> 
> Disclaimer in bottom note to avoid spoilers. Enjoy! 💚

The thing with he and Harry, is they’ve never exactly put a label on it. 

It was always casual. Easy. Sneaking kisses around the x-factor house, which turned into sneaking kisses around their own house, and eventually, sneaking kisses in a storage closet of whatever stadium they were in, desperate after not having a moment to themselves for weeks on end. 

It was never meant to be anything more. The rumours were always painting them out to be in some serious hidden relationship or something, when in actuality, they just fucked every now and again. 

They were never embarrassed about it, or confused. Being in as big of a band as they are, they sort of needed that release. Something they couldn’t just go out and get from just anyone, especially not if that anyone happened to be a guy. 

It was never a big deal, at least until it was. 

The night had started out normal. They had just come back for the first show of the new tour, and after weeks of only seeing each other for rehearsals or meetings, it was the first time he and Harry stayed in the same building together since last tour ended. That was  _months_ ago. 

It was like coming home, to sneak out of his hotel room and up a floor to Harry’s. Maybe that should’ve been the first tell that things were different, but he didn’t look into it. 

“Hey.” Harry answers on the third knock, already smiling, reaching one of his ridiculously large hands out to tangle in his hoodie, pull him inside. 

“Hi.” Louis breathes in reply, soft in a way it only gets with this boy in these situations where it’s just him. He tilts up at the same time Harry shifts down, and then they’re falling into each other, grinning madly as they hug. It’s always lovely to hug Harry. He has such good hugs, but they just simply aren’t allowed to do this normally. Not around people. 

“Missed you.” Harry murmurs, nose in his neck, kicking the door closed and sneaking a hand under his hoodie. Louis shivers at the cold skin contact, his own fingers falling in its usual spot in the curls tickling at his cheek. 

“Just saw you today. And everyday for the last week.” He replies, smiling at just the feeling of being back like this again. 

“You know what I mean. Just us.” Harry replies, arms tightening around him, and Louis does know. He really does. 

It’s always been different, the two of them. In a way he doesn’t care to go around asking about. In a way he hasn’t even told his family or Stan about, because how could he? He doesn’t even understand it himself. The way he can go months without  _really_ seeing the boy, but the second they’re alone again it’s like he’s falling apart at the seams, only held together by Harry’s arms around him and the way he smells. 

Like coming home, he remembers. 

But,

Not like  _that_ , obviously. He doesn’t have feelings for him. He and Harry have always been like this, quiet together in a way nobody else knows. Barely speaking full sentences but understanding each other completely. He could say it’s just a mutual understanding of their situation and how it affects them, but it’s really not like that. If it were, he’d be sneaking into Liam and Niall’s rooms too. 

No, it’s just Harry. 

They’ve always been close, though. It’s nothing to look into. They just look out for each other in a different way than anyone else he’s met. In a can’t-speak-in-public, yet always-aware-of-the-other sort of way. 

Thinking about it makes his head hurt anyway, so he doesn’t. 

Instead, he pulls away from the hug, looks into Harry’s eyes once, and then closes his own, tilts their foreheads together. Harry’s breath catches at the shift, it’s always there, the sudden realisation that they aren’t just going to cuddle and talk shit tonight. It’s going to be a  _more_ night. 

It feels different, this time. When Harry gently steps them back so Louis’ shoulders lean into the wall, lips meeting his like they always have. Soft and stomach-flipping like it never is with anyone else. Never has been. Even when they were sixteen and eighteen and having their first one, smushed together in a dark corner at bootcamp when they had only been in the band for just days. 

Afterwards, Harry had giggled, lips pink and eyes shiny, and Louis had pulled him in for another. They never really talked about it, and just sort of never stopped. 

“Something’s..” present day Harry separates their lips, eyebrows knitting. Their eyes meet again, considerably more dilated, and he shakes his head like he can’t decide how to finish the sentence. 

“Different?” Louis guesses, and Harry nods, frown settling into his forehead as he mulls this over. 

“Is it because it’s the last tour?” The younger asks, and then tugs him away from the wall. They stumble over to the bed, Harry’s lips latched onto his neck. 

“Maybe we..shouldn’t go on hiatus.” Louis says, finally. Has been thinking it since the very moment Harry’d casually mentioned the idea months and months ago. They’d all been sitting around on an empty stage after touring an arena, mostly quiet, a mere two days after Zayn had left. 

“I thought you were in?” Harry asks, immediately lifting from his neck, eyes wide when they meet his. Louis shrugs, starts to unbutton his shirt, lip between his teeth. 

“Well I dunno..jus’ feel like we’ll never see each other again once we stop.” 

“You know that’s not true—“

“Don’t,” Louis sits up onto his elbows, but Harry doesn’t back away, so they’re right up against each other, “we both know once the band ends you’re going to be able to do your own shit. Be however you want, especially on stage. You really think you’ll get that and want to come back to this?” 

“You make it sound like I’m trapped.”

“You are. I’ve read the stuff you write just for you. The way you want to dress and just be. It’s..it’s not one direction.” 

Harry’s eyes fall, and then he looks  _guilty_ , suddenly, which isn’t what he wanted. Not in the slightest. Louis sucks in a breath, reaches up to cup his cheek. 

“I’ll do this forever,” Harry says before he can even begin to speak, eyes drifting back to his with fierce determination, “if you aren’t in, we can keep going. Until we’re eighty and still writing about cheesy date nights.” 

Louis laughs, dropping his elbows so he falls back against the bed. Harry follows, nosing into his neck. 

“No, H. I know it’s time to let it go, but shit, you realise we’ll almost never see each other, right? This is..” he swallows thickly, because they don’t really talk about it, the thing they do, “this is probably the last, like, the last first time.”

The silence thickens between them. He can feel Harry’s heartbeat under the pads of his fingers, thrumming in the same way Louis’ is with this realisation. They aren’t kids anymore. Whatever they are, friends with benefits or whatever, isn’t going to happen after this tour. They’re going to move on. From the band, yes. But from each other, also. The only time they do this thing is during tours. 

When they’re off on their own, meeting up to fuck would be weird, wouldn’t it? It’d be something more than just this. 

“Oh.” Harry finally replies, and then he lifts his head, only to kiss him again. This time, it’s a tad biting with a hint of desperation. Like he wants to forget that thought already. Louis knows he himself does, and he’s the one who brought it up. 

He wants to cry, sort of, feels like the knowledge that this is the beginning of the end is a stone boulder, chasing through his veins and slamming right into his heart. He can’t imagine touring around on his own. Not without the boys. Not without  _this_ boy. He’s going to have to see videos of Harry falling on a stage at his own solo show and won’t be able to tug him into a hotel room that night and kiss it better. He just won’t. 

Maybe that’s something else he should notice. The way that makes him feel. Like he’s losing bits of himself with every new picture in his mind. Fuck, one day Harry’s going to have someone else to kiss his aches away, and that’s..

“D-did you..during the break—“ Louis cuts himself off abruptly, pressing his lips together as he realises what he’s asking and the implications behind it. 

“No. Course not.” Harry answers anyway, without hesitation or question. As he always has. He doesn’t question the way Louis always asks if he was with anyone else off-tour. He’s glad for it, anyway. Doesn’t know how to explain that he doesn’t have feelings but also hates the thought of someone else making Harry’s toes curl. 

He sits up so his shirt can be pulled off, and Harry’s hands are shaking where he’s fumbling with Louis’ buttons of his jeans. He reaches down, helps him out, easing out of the clinging material, hips lifting against each other as he shimmies out of both those and his pants. And then he’s just nude under him. 

“Why’re you shaking?” Louis murmurs, blindly reaching out for a condom, setting the packet into Harry’s palm so he knows just how tonight is going to go. 

“Been too long.” The boy answers, eyes taking over his skin. His head ducks, and it’s wet when his lips touch to the swirling letters across his chest. Louis lies back and threads his fingers through his hair, tugging a bit. It always makes him noisy, never failing. 

Harry groans, and then there’s hands on his thighs, lifting and spreading them so he can fit in. God, he’s not even undressed, still in his jeans and open shirt. 

“Hurry it up, Harold. Haven’t got all night.” Louis pipes, smiling at the response he knows he’s going to get. A sassy ‘as if you could last that long’ or something-

“Shh,” Harry whispers, head lifting from his chest and eyes finding his, “wanna take care of you t’night.” 

Louis opens his mouth to retort, inform him like he isn’t a child or something, but something in the glisten of his pretty green eyes stops him. His stomach swirls with something unexplainable, cheeks hotting under his steady gaze. 

“Okay.” He whispers back, when it seems Harry isn’t going to continue without confirmation. 

The boy smiles softly, fumbles around with his bag on the floor for a minute before he returns with lube, and when he reaches down to kiss him again, it’s gentle and slow in a way it almost never is once they get past the foyer step of the night. 

Louis doesn’t complain. Couldn’t, really. He wraps his arms around him and lets himself be kissed until his lips are tingling and his chest is fluttering in a way he’d never admit to anyone in existence. 

But it does, and something’s different about tonight. It’s the last time. The last first-

Harry pulls away when Louis starts to giggle in his mouth, raising an eyebrow but smiling despite himself. 

“What?” He asks, eyes flitting over his face as Louis laughs breathlessly, like he can’t get enough of the picture. 

“Last First Kiss.” He says, and watches it dawn over Harry’s face within a second, and then they’re both laughing. Harry runs a hand down his face like he’s exasperated, ducking his head to press his laughter into Louis’ skin. 

Somewhere along the way, Harry’s laughter hitches, turns into something else. Louis reaches up to clutch at his hair, eyes fluttering closed as he feels the first drop on the dip in his throat. 

“Haz.” He murmurs, in a soft murmur of a voice. Harry lifts away to look at him, always does when he’s called the nickname. Louis used to do it all the time, in the early years. Used to shout it over tables at book signings or across a stage, loud and carefree. Now, it’s only used like this, when it’s the middle of the night and needed. 

“I love you.” Harry provides as his only explanation, but Louis pulls him closer anyway. He doesn’t need to explain. He knows Harry’s crying because of everything. Knows that they’ve been pulled away from each other so much that these nights spent together in hotel rooms are pretty much their only way of, well, hanging out. Being them without being  _them_. 

“Love you too, H. We’ll be okay. We..we will still see each other, yeah? I’ll hide out in a bin and have Alberto wheel me into your dressing room.” 

Harry smiles, eyes still glassy with tears, and sits up, tugs off his open shirt. Louis gets hands on him immediately, running over his back. 

“Promise you’ll sneak in every now and then? No matter what?” He messes around with the lube, and then mid-conversation hikes Louis’ drifted leg up higher and circles his rim with a wet finger. 

“Only if y’sneak into mine too.” Louis says, eyes falling onto the boy’s free hand, pressed to the bed to steady himself. He’s wearing the bear ring on his middle finger. Always is, it seems. Louis had gotten it for him way back in 2012, said some truly sappy shit he’d never say in front of another human  _ever_. 

Harry’s never taken it off, it seems. 

“Of course.” He responds, tucks a second finger into him. Louis makes a soft noise, reaching down to wrap a hand around himself. Harry takes his hand before he can, threads their fingers together and presses them both to the bed. Louis’ breath stumbles right along with his heart, and he looks away from the cold ring that now fits between his own fingers, and up to Harry’s eyes. They’re dark. 

“Don’t move. I’m taking care of you.” He says, voice lowered a few more octaves than normal, and Louis squirms a bit under his gaze. 

It’s different. Everything feels different, now, and it’s suddenly apparent. Harry curls his fingers inside of him, presses in a third between pumps, and Louis whimpers, eyes fluttering. He thinks maybe he should stop this, clear his mind up so he can figure out what is happening, but he sort of can’t. 

Not just because it feels heavenly, especially after these few months without him, but also, he sort of physically can’t. Because Harry’s  _holding him down._ It’s not exactly a thing they do. They’ve tried out many positions in various different surfaces in a billion different countries, but they don’t exactly get, like, kinky. 

“H-Harry..” he starts to complain, but when he turns his head to see their hands together again, something twists inside of him, unexplainable, completely new. At the same time, Harry scissors his three fingers and then tucks them in deep, presses right to his prostate. 

He moans, free hand scrambling for the duvet underneath them. He didn’t mess around with himself much over the break, to be fair. It was mostly just depressing wanks before bed. There was one time in the shower after the first tour meeting when he remembered it would mean they’d be together again. He’d stuffed his own fingers inside himself but the angle was shit. It was alright, though, he sort of just needed the full feeling. 

Knows deep deep down in a place he ignores with all his heart and soul that he just likes to save it. Knows it never feels as good as it does when Harry presses into that hot bundle of nerves. Not with his own fingers, or toys, or anything else he could possibly try. 

Then the fingers are gone, from both his arse and his own hand, and he opens his eyes to see Harry rolling on the condom, sat up on his ankles. The boy looks up like he can feel the eyes on him, and there’s no jokes spoken now. No laughter. Harry’s jaw ticks and then he sits up from his ankles and stands up from the bed. 

Then he reaches in, hands fit in the pits of Louis’ folded knees, and yanks him down the bed, right to the edge. It’s  _manhandling_ , is what it is. Louis’ hands fall above himself with the movement, body relaxing as he’s pulled wherever Harry wants, and..

Maybe that should’ve been another sign he needed to notice, the way he just falls limp. 

He doesn’t, though, eyes wide and chest heaving with anticipation as Harry grips his thighs, presses into him slowly. 

“Fuck,” Louis whines, chin lifting with the ache of it. Even if it hasn’t been a while, it still always hurts a bit. Harry’s not exactly small. He’d never tell him, though, doesn’t need the boy to get yet another too-big head. He reaches down instinctively to get a hand on himself, counter the pain a bit. 

“Louis.” Harry murmurs, tone disapproving, and bats his hand away from himself. Louis twitches, and he isn’t even sure which part did it, but he can’t seem to look up to Harry’s eyes, confusion and arousal swirling through every part of himself. He can’t decide with one to focus on. It’s a lot. Too much, almost. 

“I..I..” he stutters, isn’t sure how to voice it exactly. The way he feels like he’s about to spin out of control despite lying down. It’s too much, he decides. Definitely too much-

“Hey, let me do everything, okay? Don’t worry-don’t  _think_ about anything.” Harry’s leaning over him, then, and in his face like that, he sort of can’t avoid his eyes. Louis feels his cheeks heat in a way he isn’t exactly sure the reason for. He doesn’t even really know what he’s being asked to do. Can’t exactly just stop thinking about everything. Is always thinking about everything, all the time..

Harry’s hips jut forward, bottoming out, and at the same time, he lifts up away from his face, his hand curling around his shoulder to hold on as he starts to thrust. 

Only, it’s not exactly his shoulder. It’s just a little too in, his thumb edging at Louis’ throat, his fingers touching the hair at the back of his head. Just a few centimetres over, and he’d have his hand around his throat. 

For some reason, the thought makes a sort of white noise rush through his ears. Harry’s eyes are still dark as he starts to actually fuck him, and every thrust should shift him up the bed, but that hand at the junction of his shoulder keeps him held exactly in place. 

Louis’ eyes flutter, back arching at the realisation that he’s still sort of being manhandled. 

No, taken care of, as Harry’d said. He just has to lie here and take it, hope the boy knows what to do to get him off. 

Fuck, why is this so..so..

“P-please.” Tumbles right out of his mouth before he can stop it, and he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. He feels fuzzy, a bit, can’t seem to get his thoughts coherent. 

“S’okay, Lou, so good.” Harry grumbles, his other hand on his thigh tightening as he shifts a bit to change the angle, and then it’s perfect. Right where he wants it. He wonders, wildly, if Harry was calling the sex good or  _him_ good, and he feels so out of it that he nearly just asks. Barely bites his tongue in time to stop it. 

With Harry fucking right into his prostate with every thrust of his hips, he’s teetering close to the edge within minutes, hands clutching the duvet desperately as he’s just given everything. 

No,  _taken_. Harry’s taking him. 

“Oh,” he moans, toes curling as the thought sends him too close too fast, “Da—fuck,  _fuck_.” 

He spills over his own stomach, untouched, and Harry keeps going for a few moments longer, before he’s following with a noise that’s probably his name, but Louis a bit preoccupied with reality crashing right back into him like a car flying at a brick wall at top speed. What the fuck. 

_ What the fuck.  _

He’s frozen full-bodily, and waits for Harry to ask and him to have no clue how to respond because how does he? 

_Daddy_ , he’d almost said. Daddy. That’s, that’s porn shit. Dirty and as far as he’d always thought, cheap and vaguely gross. He’s never wanted to say it, let alone even thought it. He doesn’t even know why he almost did. Isn’t sure which part made his fuzzed brain throw it out. Was it the manhandling? The strangely dark way Harry was looking at him? The  _taking care of you_ thing?

Something must’ve just reminded his silly sex brain of a lewd video he’d fallen onto once or something. He can’t think of himself genuinely saying something like that. Not in bed. Not with Harry. 

Not with Harry, fuck. His—his Harry. His friend with benefits? 

“Do you want first shower?” The boy asks, taking him out of his catatonic state. Louis opens his mortified eyes, and finds Harry’s casually rolling off the condom, backing away from him to find the bin. Did he not hear? Did he not notice? 

It’s possible. He had barely said the first syllable of the word. It could easily have just been a slip-up. He could’ve been trying to say something else. Damn, he could’ve been trying to say. 

Knows it’s not true. 

He may not have said it, but it flew through his head like a love confession, screaming at him to be voiced. He knows if he were perhaps just a little more out of it, he would’ve said it. Definitely would have. Daddy. 

Fuck. 

“Yes.” He responds, probably a little too loudly, but he doesn’t stop to see Harry’s reaction, fleeing right to the toilet and straight into the shower. 

He doesn’t even wait for it to properly warm before he hops in and desperately scrubs at the drying come on his stomach, at the sweat along his hairline. He tries hard as he can to wash the word away, wishes he could reach into his head and clean it away, watch it swirl down the drain. 

The water warms, and he steps under the stream with a defeated sigh, heart slamming in his chest. It’s not a big deal, he decides. Everyone says weird shit mid-sex. Once, they got pissed out of their minds and Harry asked him, on his hands and knees being fucked, if he could lick caramel out of Louis’ arse. 

Louis had laughed, but after they’d cleaned up, they tried it out for round two. It was sticky and messy but it was  _fun_. 

This doesn’t feel fun. 

This feels like it’s stabbing at something deep down that he’s never let bubble to the surface. Something he’s never said in this particular context. He doesn’t know how to move forward from this. Does he pretend it never happened and hope Harry doesn’t realise what he’d almost said? Does he come out and play it into a joke, saying he’d watched a strange porn video recently and it was on his mind? 

Or worst of all, does he try it again? 

No, no, he couldn’t. It’s weird. It’s not silly food-play. This is different. Wildly different. It’s a kink that can fall into such an embarrassing category of sex that he doesn’t even want to scratch the surface. 

So he decides right then and there. He won’t bring it up ever. If Harry does, he will say he was going for ‘damn’. He doesn’t need to explore this strange slip-up. Not with his friend that he fucks sometimes. Not with his best mate. 

Definitely not. 

Bloody hell.  _Daddy_. 

He huffs a laugh at himself and rinses his hair out, stepping out of the pearl shower curtain to find Harry’s set a pair of briefs on the sink. He smiles and dries off, pulls them on. He’s running his fingers over his hair when he steps out. Harry’s set up the bed, and the boy sits at the chair in the corner on his phone, still completely nude. 

“Better hurry before I sneak out like a one night stand.” Louis says lightly, falling into the bed and tucking himself into the middle of it, taking up all the space in the way that he knows makes Harry sigh in frustration. Maybe the joke will stop the boy from noticing the flush on his cheeks. He wonders if his heartbeat can be heard across the room. 

He’s terrified he’ll be called out on. 

“Give me two minutes.” Harry says instead, and within ten seconds the shower is spraying again. The relief sags through every part of him, and Louis closes his eyes, still star-fished, tingling a bit all over when he realises there was nothing in Harry’s voice to suggest he knows. 

He’s so relieved he dozes off, and is rudely awoken minutes later when Harry unceremoniously picks him up and scoots him over, climbing into the bed with him. 

“Oi.” Louis mumbles drowsily, reaching out to slap him blindly. He hits warm skin, so considers it a win. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes to see where he’s hit, knows Harry’s turned off every light in the room and pulled the curtains closed.

“Alarm’s set. We gotta be up early for that promo shoot.” Harry replies, and takes his slapping arm and scoots right up into his space, tangling them together until he can’t remember who’s legs are who’s and their breathing syncs up in a way that should probably be creepy. 

It isn’t. 

“Mm. g’night, love.” Louis’ fingers find their way into Harry’s damp hair, tangling into them in a way that Lou’s going to be annoyed about tomorrow when she’s trying to tame the knotted ringlets. He loves Harry’s hair long. Wants to tell him, but he’s about two seconds from sleep. 

“Goodnight.” Harry whispers, his own fingers twitching against Louis’ skin. He can still feel the metal of his ring, warm from the steam of the shower, likely. It’s nice. He should buy him more rings, should have him fill up all his fingers until he looks like some wealthy elderly woman. He could pull it off, probably. 

He swallows dryly thinking about it, reckons he’d buy him something with red on, make it a little more obvious that he’s the one who bought it. It’s his own favourite colour, after all. Or maybe he should get one in Harry’s? Maybe buying the boy a ring in his own favourite colour is a little..claiming. Harry isn’t his, after all. Not in the way he’s thinking right now. 

Though it sure does feel like it sometimes, like now, when they’re tangled together after sex. Sometimes, deep down in the pits of himself, he admits that he wouldn’t mind calling Harry his. He falls asleep, mind fuzzy with that thought that he rarely lets himself think. 

He wouldn’t mind. 

-

If he thought the D word wouldn’t affect him, he was surely wrong. 

The next day, he wakes up with a headache. Harry fetches him medicine and then he’s off to his own room to get dressed. Once he’s alone, he remembers what happened and promptly panics about it for the two hours between the hotel and seeing him again. They ride separately, always do, so he won’t see Harry until they reach the actual shoot. When he does, they’ll be reduced to subtle glances and sneaky smiles as they always are anywhere even remotely close to strangers or cameras. 

And they are. It should feel like it’s back to normal, but it doesn’t. His headache lingers, but he does all the same stuff he always does, reaching in to slap Liam in the balls right when the camera’s flash, tugging Niall behind the other two so they can make silly faces and ruin shots. Loud and loud and loud, as he always is. 

It feels like an act. He feels like he’s pretending to be himself, which just doesn’t make sense, really, does it? 

They’re crowded together for a closeup of their faces, when a hand subtly tucks under his jumper and presses to the small of his back. He doesn’t need to feel the cold of his ring to know it’s Harry. He doesn’t need to glance around, knows that the boy would only touch him if it were a thousand percent hidden from view from everyone in the room. Somehow, his headache starts to throb, coming back strong and horrible. 

Because he wants to lean back into Harry’s hand. No, he wants more. He wants to lean back into him all the way. Nurse his headache in a dark room without flashes, Harry murmuring against his skin. Taking care of him. 

_Taking care of him_. 

“You alright, Tommo?” Someone asks somewhere in the collection of people beyond the cameras. 

“Yeah,” he says too loudly, feels Harry’s hand slip away just a moment before he starts to move out of the crowded position they’ve set up, like the boy just knows he’s going to move, “I just—loo.” 

He bolts, and just keeps going until he reaches the toilet they were pointed to during the small tour earlier. He’s splashed his whole face with water by the time he remembers he’s wearing makeup, and that’s how Harry finds him when he steps inside exactly twenty seconds after. Blinking into the mirror, dripping water everywhere, eyes wide. 

“It’s okay, makeup doesn’t take too long to reapply.” Harry says immediately, like he can read the panic on his face. The boy steps inside and locks the door behind himself, reaches over to the towel dispenser and takes a few. Louis turns around to face him, and grips the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles go white as Harry steps right up to him and starts to dab at the water before it can fully dampen his shirt. 

“Is your head still hurting?” 

“Yeah.” Louis murmurs, feels like he might cry soon. Feels like he needs too, actually. Decides he most definitely has to put it on hold. There’s no time for a weird breakdown today. They’re so busy with the start of the tour and most likely, are being searched out as they speak. 

It’s just. Harry’s eyes are soft, hands sure on his jaw as he holds him steady and dries him off. 

Taking care of him. 

His first instinct is to pull away, but he realises doing so would cause the boy to know this isn’t exactly just about the tour. It’s not just because it’s the last tour and the last everything. 

He’s too late, still, and flinches back just enough for Harry’s next pat to fall short. Immediately, their eyes meet, and Louis probably isn’t fast enough to hide the panic in his eyes. 

It likely won’t matter. No matter how many walls he throws up, Harry always reads him so well. Always has. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks immediately, voice so soft it hardly echoes around the empty room. Just for him. Louis inhales shakily, doesn’t know how to say it. 

Doesn’t know how to ask him not to do this. Take care of him like he’s a child. It’s different, now. Not just because it’s the last tour. No, now even this is different, because he’s noticing it. Noticing how Harry just does these things without even realising. 

Perhaps, the daddy thing isn’t just because of sex, and that’s— it’s exactly what he was afraid of. It turning out to be more than he bargained for. He isn’t like this. He isn’t the type of guy to cling to another and beg to be held or something. He’s..fuck, he isn’t like that. Not even with Harry. Even if the boy somehow didn’t think it was weird, he could never explore this with him. 

Not just because it’s fucking weird and embarrassing, but also because Harry’s his best mate. First and foremost. Before the sex and the sort of dependency they have on each other. He knows this thing between them isn’t permanent. 

It just feels bigger, the feelings swirling around his gut right now. Something that doesn’t fit into their casual way of being together. Something that’s more for a relationship. Built on years and years of trust, something Louis won’t bring up until he fully trusts someone. 

And, well, it’s right then, a mere moment after Harry’s spoken, that he realises that’s exactly what’s happened here. Harry’s been taking care of him for years, and he’s been taking care of the boy right back. The D word isn’t just a word, it’s a need that aches right at his heartstrings every time Harry fetches him a throat lozenge or piggy-backs him while they ride a hotel lift when he’s tired. It’s not just sex. And that terrifies him, right down to his core. 

“I’m just being stupid, we should get back.” He rushes out too quickly to sound anything but panicked. He hides his wince, wondering when his acting skills fucked off to nowhere, and ducks right under Harry’s arm, bolting for the door. 

His fingers fall short, because Harry’s grabbed him, hand around his wrist. He pulls him right back, other hand falling to his waist. He never noticed how much they touch each other when they’re alone. As if it’s natural, easy. It is, actually. Always has been. 

“What’re you doing? You never run away.” Harry says, and it’s hard not to notice the underlining hurt in his voice. He doesn’t look to his eyes, worried the boy will take one look and know everything. Instead, he stares resolutely at the tile of the floor. The grout is stupidly light-grey and pristine in a way it only is in these expensive buildings filled with expensive equipment. He hates it, sort of. It feels fake, like a front. 

Like he way he feels now, desperate to hold onto this thing inside of him and not share it with the one person he’s shared everything else. He’s told Harry things he’s never told anyone. Not even Oli, the guy he tells all his emotional cringe to. Not even his mum, sometimes. And Harry knows things about him just the same. Things that nobody else has and maybe even nobody else will. 

“I can’t.” Louis says, unsure how to finish the sentence. He can’t do anything right now. Feels like any second he could just fall apart, drop into the boy’s arms and hope he knows what he’s asking for. 

“You can’t what? Did I do something?” Harry asks, voice shaky, and Louis opens his mouth immediately to tell him no. He didn’t, truly. It’s just Louis and his fucking weird brain that decided to link being taken care of to a word he never thought he’d want to say. 

He wants it so bad it hurts. 

“Boys! You in there?” It’s Liam at the door, voice followed by a sharp knock. He doesn’t try the door, and maybe that’s a testament to how well the boys know them. They know by now that when Harry and Louis disappear, it’ll be behind a locked door. Louis tries to remember a time when it wasn’t like that. 

Can’t. 

“Just a minute, Li.” Harry replies, and then his hand reaches up. He’s going to tilt Louis face to meet his eyes, but he can’t handle that right now, so instead he tips forward right into the boy’s chest. Only a moment later Harry’s arms circle around him. He feels small like this, arms folded between them, wrapped away from the world. He wants to say it, again. Wonders if he always wanted to say it, because the feeling is familiar. 

He’s never really wanted to feel small and taken care of. He’s the eldest brother, the one who’s always done the care taking. Did it with Harry, too, especially when they first met. When Harry was smaller and baby fat still clung to his cheeks. 

He can’t remember when it changed. When he started wanting it, because he never had to wait too long before he got it. Even between tours, it was only ever a few weeks, maybe months, before they were back at it again, and Harry would pull him close just like this when it all got a bit overwhelming. 

He always had this feeling, he just never had the name for it. Never realised the name for it wasn’t the name for himself. Why now? Why does it have to happen now? Barely a day into their last tour? In some fucking photoshoot in Australia. Why couldn’t this have happened years ago? Or better yet, not at all? 

“You’re doing everything right.” Louis murmurs into Harry’s collarbone, unsure how else to say it. He can’t explain this, yet. Isn’t sure if he wants to, either. Isn’t sure how he’d even start if he did. It feels like an itch in his throat, scratching up and trying to escape before he even knows what it is himself. 

“Okay.” Harry replies, gentle and perfect, lips touching to the top of his head. Because he’s tall enough to just do that. For some reason, it makes Louis’ eyes itch like he might cry, so he pulls away and runs a hand through his hair to straighten it a bit. He touches a hand to Harry’s chest, exhaling sharply, and turns to leave. 

This time, the boy lets him go. He’s thankful for it, because he likely would have fallen right apart otherwise. 

-

That night, after a long day and their first show of the tour, he’s barely settled into the mattress in his room when his phone dings. He opens it mostly blindly, exhaustion filling him deeply. 

‘You up?’ It reads. He doesn’t need to look to the sender to know it’s from Harry. He swallows thickly, fingers hovering over the keys as he hesitates. 

He’s never denied it, just as Harry never has either. Not a single time has it been ‘nah I’m too tired’ because then they just cuddle together and sleep. He’s never turned him down. Doesn’t think he could without having to explain it all. 

So, he rolls over and just pretends he was asleep and didn’t get the text in time. Maybe if his brain weren’t running so haywire, he would remember that his read receipts are on just for him. 

-

He remembers the next morning. Mostly because when he wakes up it’s to a lump of boy sat on the corner of the bed, legs criss-cross and eyes right on him. 

He startles a bit, sitting up immediately. 

“Shit, did I oversleep?” He asks in a rasp, reaching for his phone and opening it up. He checks the time to find it’s a full two hours before he even needs to wake up. Which is a crime against all of humanity, he reckons, but before he can even begin to complain about it, his eyes fall onto the open text and he realises what’s happening. 

“You said I didn’t do anything.” Harry murmurs. It doesn’t sound accusatory, just hurt. Louis looks up from the text and fish mouths lamely. It’s far too early to talk about this can of worms right now. Far too early to even think about it. 

“You haven’t. I’m just feeling..weird.” Louis says, and it’s not a lie, at least. Probably couldn’t lie to him even if he tries. Harry always knows. 

“You’ve felt all kinds of shit, but you’ve never, like, not wanted to see me.” Harry replies, his voice soft but not sleep-thick. Likely, he’s already been up for a while, contemplating coming in but not wanting to wake him up too early or something. Maybe he’s been panicking. Louis feels like a bag of dicks, basically. 

“That’s not it at all, H. I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling, like, I just need some time to..figure it out?” 

Harry chews on his lip, eyes on his lap. He’s fiddling with the loose skin of his knuckles, hesitating. Likely, if this weren’t happening, he would’ve woken up to the boy draped all over him instead of where he is, perched on the edge of the bed. Holding himself back in the way he’s learned to do in public. The way he  _never_ does when they’re alone, but he is now. Because he thinks he isn’t allowed. Louis inhales shakily and reaches out into the space between them. 

“C’mere, darling.” He says, and Harry moves immediately with an audible sigh of relief, taking his hand and crawling into the duvet with him, and then they’re wrapping together in the way they should have been last night. 

“Don’t pull away. Whatever it is, you don’t have to hide it from me..but I understand if you need to. I won’t ask about it anymore. Just, don’t pull away.” Harry murmurs into his hair. Louis squeezes his eyes shut, tries to fight against the urge to cry. It’s, well, fuck. How does he always do that? Say exactly what he needs to hear? Every fucking time. 

“Don’t let me pull away.” He responds, and maybe it’s stupid, but Harry holds him tighter and pets through his hair and it’s fucking everything he ever craves, even if he hates to admit it to himself. 

“I won’t.” Harry whispers, and it sounds like a vow. 

-

“You’re being weird.” Niall says, three days later, riding in the backseat of a car somewhere in Madrid. 

“You’re right,” Louis sighs, unbuckles his seatbelt and leans right onto the lad, “I can’t hide it anymore, I’m in love with you.” 

“Fuck off!” Niall cackles, shoving him away when Louis starts trying to kiss him. Their driver Dean calls back for him to put his seatbelt back on, and Louis decidedly ignores him, flopping back into his own seat with a dejected sigh. He’s quite good at distractions. Nobody even has to know that it’s been a full three days since the D word incident and he still doesn’t know what the fuck to do about it. 

“Seriously, what’s up with you?” Niall asks once they’ve settled. Maybe not so good at distractions, then. 

“Gonna have to be more specific.”

“You really want me to?” Niall quirks an eyebrow, setting his phone down, and it sounds like a challenge, for some reason. 

“Yes?” Louis isn’t so sure, now, especially when Niall peeks at the driver and turns full-bodily to him, leaning in so he can talk quietly. 

“You’re being weird with him.”

“Who?” Louis asks too quickly, forgetting not to look guilty as all hell. Niall deadpans, looking at him far too knowingly. God, does everyone know, then? It’s not like they talk about it. He and the boys talk about his thing with Harry even less than he and Harry talk about it themselves. Less than never. 

“Seriously, Lou. It’s starting to affect him, now. He’s getting more careless. Watchin’ you more than he usually does. Like he’s waiting for you to keel over or something.” 

“I’m not..is he really?” It’s news to him, actually. Sure, he peeks over at Harry as often as he can within the realm of still-platonic, especially on stage, but the boy isn’t usually looking back. Always seems to know when he’s about to be looked at, turning away just in time. 

On the rare occasion, their eyes meet across the stage, and Louis has to fight a smile, has to remember his next words if he’s mid-verse. Has to remember the hours upon hours of media training they’ve had. 

The hours he and Harry have gotten more than the rest of the boys. Maybe that should say something, that the two of them needed more work. Maybe Louis should have spoken up and told them that they aren’t together, by the way. He wonders if the team thinks they are. 

“We aren’t together, you know.” Louis says abruptly, before Niall can answer the question he’d asked. The boy looks at him with this look that’s nothing but disbelief. 

“Except you are.” 

“Except we aren’t.” He sounds too defensive, now, and Niall knows it, a slow smile spreading over his face. 

Thankfully, there’s someone above looking out for him, because then they’re pulling up to the arena and the conversation is dropped. 

Even still, Niall’s words stick with him.  _Except you are_. What does that even mean? He can’t be with someone if he isn’t with someone. It doesn’t make sense. He and Harry don’t have feelings for each other, they just fuck sometimes. It’s not a big deal. 

He wonders when that thought started feeling sour in his head. 

-

It all goes to shit the very next day. 

Well, night, technically. 

He’s in his room, bundled up against every pillow the bed had to offer, plus two more he’d requested from room service, and there’s some cartoon film playing on the flatscreen. He’s put it on mute, just wanting to watch the visuals, ears still ringing from the show. 

His phone dings, and he doesn’t even reach for it. He knows what it is. He knows he and Harry only go mere days on tour without meeting up again. Meeting up in decidedly nude ways. His read receipts are on, so he doesn’t open his phone this time, leaves it right on the bedside table. 

It dings again two minutes later, and he swallows thickly, fingers twitching like they want to answer, but he can’t. He’s already feeling weird today. Off from Niall’s random interrogation and his realisation that he wants Harry to be in here so bad that he’s already half-hard just thinking about it, and he doesn’t like that. 

Hates it, actually. Hates that he wants so much. Hates that the need for the boy twists through him so strongly in a way he should’ve realised as a warning sign years ago. How is he going to handle it when the hiatus starts? How is he going to handle it when the hiatus eventually turns permanent like he knows deep in his gut it will? He will have to move on. 

He doesn’t want anyone else. 

Fuck, he doesn’t want anyone else. He doesn’t want another, like, friend with benefits or whatever. Doesn’t think he could trust anyone else to be that for him, to know him that deeply. Harry’s the only boy he’s ever let top him, and he can’t imagine letting some other dude do that. Can’t imagine doing that to a girl, either. 

Hasn’t even considered it. Not in years. Not even once since the moment he stumbled into a toilet hours before his audition and right into a little curly boy with stupid cute dimples. 

“Fuck.” He whispers out loud when the tears start, because he isn’t stupid. 

He can lie to himself and hold it back all he wants, but he isn’t daft. He knows what this is. He knows this isn’t just sex. This is feelings shit. This is exactly what he was afraid of the moment that word nearly fell from his lips three days ago. He was afraid this is what that meant. 

He wants more. He wants everything. 

_He can’t have it_. 

There’s another ding, but it’s not his phone. It’s the ding of the door being unlocked. Louis freezes, and in a childish moment of panic, he yanks the duvet over his head.

The door clicks shut, and there’s the soft pad of Harry’s boots on the carpet, the zip of them and the thuds as he takes them off. 

“I know you aren’t sleeping.” The boy says, and then the bed dips. Louis frowns, wipes at his eyes while he’s still hidden. He knows it’s futile, Harry’s going to take one look at him and know he’s cried. Always knows, even if it’s been hours. How does he always know? 

“I think I just need to be alone right now.” Louis mumbles, and the sentence feels wrong with every new syllable that slips from his mouth. He holds his breath. It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then the duvet is pulled away, and the pillows behind him are being shoved away, and Harry’s crawling in and pulling him close. 

“Harry—“

“You told me not to let you pull away. This is me following through. You aren’t alone, Lou. Whatever it is, I’m here the whole time.” Harry says, one hand circled his waist, the other thumbing his tear-tracks away. 

“Oh yeah? What if I want to stop our..thing?” Louis asks, and it’s completely and utterly not what he wants, but he’s emotional and defensive about it. He doesn’t turn to look and see whatever expression Harry’s giving him, can already feel him tense. 

“Then we stop. You’re my best mate first, you know that. I don’t need to kiss you to be there for you-“

“Please.” Louis whispers, barely a breath, and it should be lost in Harry’s words, but it isn’t. He stops, lifts his head from his hair. He’s probably, like,  _looking_ at him, but Louis keeps his eyes carefully closed, stomach swirling with everything. Too much. It’s too much again. 

“Lou?” His breath is warm when it falls over his neck. He shivers and turns, opening his eyes and finding Harry’s, breathing edging on a heave as he reaches in, clutches the collar of his shirt and tries not to let himself cry more. 

“Please, Haz, I need..” His voice is shaky and mostly embarrassing, and he can’t finish the sentence. Can’t say it. He just can’t. 

_ Need you to take care of me.  _

He doesn’t need to finish it, because he never does. Harry exhales in a staggered way, and leans in to kiss him immediately. His hand cups Louis’ jaw, spread and large and it makes him feel small. Not small enough. 

Louis curls up his knees to his chest, pulls Harry closer and closer until it doesn’t make sense and he’s just tugging for no reason. He doesn’t know what he wants, exactly. He wants everything and nothing at all, and Harry then rolls over onto him, spreading Louis’ legs so he can lie on him like a weighted blanket. His legs curled around him, he feels small. 

Little. 

It catches in his throat painfully, like a sob, and he reaches up, hands fisted so tightly in Harry’s shirt he’s probably going to tear it. The boy pulls away, searches his eyes, looking thoughtful, before he leans in, noses up his jaw to his ear. 

“Tell me what you need, baby.” He murmurs gently, and he’s never called him that before. Not in this context. Louis’ said it, himself. Jokingly, usually. It’s never said like this. Not when Louis’ fully hard now, and he can feel Harry is the same, poking against his thigh. 

The thing is, baby and daddy sort of go hand in hand, don’t they? 

He releases one of his fisted hands, presses it roughly to his eyes when they’re itching with tears again. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying, he just feels so much and  _wants_ so much and it feels wrong to want it so badly. 

“I can’t.” He whispers brokenly, because he just can’t. He doesn’t know how to say it. Is terrified to say it and ruin it all. Even worse, he’s terrified to say it and find out it’s not enough. 

“You can, baby,” Harry replies, and something hot and needy twists in Louis’ stomach, “it’s alright. You can trust me.” 

What is he even talking about? He sounds like he knows, almost. 

“Harry—“

“Not Harry, right? That’s not what you want to say, is it?” 

Louis’ blood runs cold, and he tenses full-bodily. Immediately, he wants to run, starts to twist out from under him to do just that, but then Harry takes both of his wrists, pins him down to the bed and  _holds him there_. Louis’ so surprised that his eyes open and find Harry’s immediately. The boy is gulping audibly, watching him closely. 

“S-st..what’re you doing?” 

“I’m not letting you pull away. I know what you want and I’m telling you it’s okay. You can say it.” Harry says, speaking even slower than his usual drag, like he’s carefully thinking about his words. Like he’s planned them. Fuck. 

“I can’t.” Louis says again, his voice cracking on the word. How does he know? How did he know and not react the first time? Why did he wait to surprise him like this?  _ He planned his words.  _

Harry leans in, touches a kiss to his jaw, and then down, to the spot that always makes him whimper, and he latches right on, fingers tightening on his wrists. Restraining him. Louis moans despite himself, at just the feeling of his wrists and his neck and the fact that he’s still being pressed small under him. It’s a lot at once. 

“Call me it, c’mon.” Harry mumbles against his neck. His hand releases one of Louis’ wrists, snakes between them and right over the thin fabric of his briefs. He’s hard, and he gasps when the boy starts to pet over him. 

“Louis, I want you to.” Harry says next, and it sounds sincere. More than that, there’s a tone of demanding on his name, and it curls right into his gut and makes tears spring to his eyes. 

“Daddy.” He breathes, barely a whisper, barely a decibel high enough to reach his ears. Still, it feels like everything. His cheeks feel like they’re burning, and he feels weightless, almost, like the only thing holding him down to the bed is the hands on him and the lips on his throat. 

“Again.” Harry says, and starts to genuinely palm him. 

“Daddy.” Louis chokes, tears springing to his eyes. 

“Again.” It sounds like a reprimand, now, and Louis twitches right under Harry’s hand. Knows he has and knows the boy also knows. He could cry with how embarrassing and desperate it is. Does, actually. 

“Daddy,” he sobs, “daddy,  _daddy_ , please.” 

“There’s my good boy.” Harry says, and Louis’ toes curl and his back arches as he comes. Just on that. Just on this. He sees spots behind his tight eyelids. Never knew how much he wanted that. Could never imagine he needed to be called a  _good boy_. 

And then he’s sobbing, breath catching on every inhale, briefs wet and dirty, eyes still squeezed close because he can’t look him in the eye now. Ever, maybe. It’s all too much but also not even close to enough, barely scratched the surface, and he’s drowning. He can’t fucking seem to breathe-

“Open your eyes, baby. C’mon.” Harry’s voice is soft, now, gentle. Louis finds himself complying despite the humiliation clawing at every inch of his skin. 

Harry’s eyes are so green, and he’s smiling, combing his hair back from his face as he cries. He leans in, touches a soft kiss to his puffy pink cheek, meets his eyes again, and then kisses the other. He repeats this until he’s kissed every part he can reach right there, and Louis’ hyperventilating has calmed to just trembling and tears. 

“I c-can’t.” He says, for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. What part is he even talking about? All of it, probably. 

“You can, Lou. Anything you want.”

“It’s f-fucking weird.” Louis says, wanting to look away but can’t now. It’s hard to, when Harry’s staring right into his entire soul with so much support and comfort that it physically pains him. 

“Maybe so, but can’t you feel what it does to me?” He rocks his hips forward, and Louis swallows thickly at the feeling of the boy’s hard cock pressing to his thigh. He shudders. 

“How did you know?”

“You almost said it last time. I didn’t want to freak you out so I pretended not to notice. I was going to let you mull it over and tell me when you felt comfortable, but then I realised you were trying to hide it instead, even though it made me come and you didn’t even fucking say it all the way.” 

“I t-thought you wouldn’t like it.” 

“Silly.” Harry smiles, and it’s an endearment. Louis bites his lip and throws a hand over his eyes. God. Harry’s into it too. Harry’s into it too. How does he even begin to filter through this? 

“It’s not just the word.” Louis says before he can stop himself. 

“I figured as much. I think if it were we would’ve just done it by now, like the caramel thing.” 

Louis grins, can’t help himself. God, he’s thought about the same things. He feels like a fool, suddenly. To have ever thought he could keep this to himself. Not with this boy. Definitely not with this particular one. 

Fuck,  _ he has feelings for him.  _

“I’m sorry. For..being silly.” Louis removes his hand, sticks it into Harry’s hair instead, teeth sinking into his lip. 

“I’m sorry I let you be silly instead of just doing this that first night.” 

“Do you want me to suck you off?” 

“ _God_ , yes.” 

Just like that, it’s back to normal. 

-

So  _that_ was a fucking lie. 

Normal is normal, and this is most definitely not that. The daddy thing has thrown him for a loop, but more than that, startlingly more palpable, is the feelings. He’s a fool to have ever thought he could continue on and pretend he doesn’t have feelings. 

Because now it’s not just sex. It’s not just snogging in storage closets and helping each other get off every now and again. Now Louis lies in bed after a long day and he realises this ache in the centre of his chest isn’t exhaustion, it’s want. He wants Harry with him, just all the fucking time. He wants to hold him while they fall asleep, feed him crisps in the plane, take his hand while they ride in various vehicles. 

He just wants so damn much, all the time, and it hurts. He’s trying to balance the daddy thing and the feelings thing and try to keep up with all of the shit that comes along with a worldwide tour at the same time and he’s overwhelmed in a way he usually isn’t until at least halfway through the shows. 

It’s barely been a week. 

It really doesn’t help that Harry’s so bloody lovely about it all, sneaking into his room in the middle of the night to cuddle him asleep after a long exhausting day, holding him exactly right and touching kisses to his temple. He isn’t sure whether to ask him to back off or ask for more. Worst of all, he knows deep down he doesn’t want either. He knows he wants Harry to make that decision for him. Make most of the decisions, actually. 

It’s hard to release control, but Louis arguably never even had it in the first place. Perhaps he’s just been floating through the last few years on the edge, taking the minimal amount he could from Harry to keep himself sated, but never fully satisfied. Waiting for the tension to snap and the boy to give it to him. 

Not just sexually. Everything. He wants fucking everything Harry has to offer, and isn’t sure he should ask for that. 

Scratch that, he  _definitely_ isn’t going to ask for that. Harry’d said it himself, they’re best mates first. He can’t come out of left field with feelings, now. How would it even work? God, it’s the last tour, and then they’re done. Likely for a very long time, and he doesn’t know how to begin to even process that. 

Like a rubber band pulled tight, he’s always going to end up snapping. He can only hope he can put it off until he’s alone. Not just in his hotel room, no. Alone as in a few months. When the tour ends and it’s just him. The thought of getting on a stage by himself makes his stomach flippy with nerves, and he feels very abruptly eighteen again. 

At least that’s one thing he can handle, feeling like a teenager. Because it’s not just a solo career making him feel that way. It’s also Harry. He steps into the same room and suddenly Louis’ forgotten every fucking train of thought he was having and god, when did he turn into an actual school girl with a crush? 

He throws on one of his favourite sleeveless shirts, the one that leaves his arms on display, and tries not to admit to himself that he’s desperately trying to maintain a certain façade. 

Harry, once again, sees right through him. 

“You don’t have to do that.” He mumbles, stepping right up next to him just minutes after the show. They’re still buzzing with adrenaline, and Louis’ soaked head to toe in water and lucozade. 

“Do what?” Louis replies, and pretends he can’t feel Harry’s body heat. No, pretends he doesn’t want to lean in and feel it more. What is wrong with him? He’s known Harry forever. Knows everything there is to know about him, and now suddenly wanting more has switched something off? Something as in his ability to keep his fucking  _cool_. 

His heart’s pounding and it’s most definitely not from the post-show euphoria, but from the way Harry’s leering over him, broad and keeping them separate from the other people in the room. It makes him feel small, and he has to swallow that down immediately. He doesn’t want to feel small right now. Doesn’t want to feel like that for a long time, probably. Not until the humiliation from the last time has died down. Not ever, maybe. 

If he tries hard enough, he can ignore the want for it clawing it’s way up his throat. 

“You’re trying too hard to seem..non-flamboyant.” 

“I’m just having fun, what the fuck—“

“Don’t get defensive,” Harry reaches out and catches his elbow, pulls him so he stumbles a tad closer, and Louis forgets to breathe, “you don’t have to pretend with me. Nobody knows about our thing, y’know. They aren’t going to take one look at you and assume something like that.” 

Louis wants to tear his arm away and storm off, and would have easily done about a week ago. Now, he sort of just wants to kiss him, and that’s just damn annoying if he does say so himself. He tries to ignore how Harry saying  _our_ thing rather than  _your_ thing makes his heart skip. 

“I need to shower.” He says, hoping the boy will take the hint. His arm is released, but his path is still blocked. 

“Do you want me to come to your room later?” Harry asks, but it spoken so quietly it’s almost inaudible, and Louis realises he’s asking something else. He’s asking if Louis wants..that. 

“No.” He blatantly lies. 

Harry wordlessly smiles, and steps out of the way. Louis makes his way to the showers, sticky and messy, and wishes he didn’t want so much weird fucking shit. 

-

Harry steps into his room unannounced within thirty minutes of getting back to the hotel, because of course he does. 

“Didn’t I say no?” Louis asks, sat on the couch near the door, laptop open to a bunch of half-written songs Liam had sent for him to add in his own words. 

Harry sighs with enough impatience that he looks up from what he’s doing. The boy kicks off his shoes and steps over to him, moving the laptop away and sitting where it was on the tea table. 

“I need you to tell me the things you think are going to freak me out.” 

Louis swallows thickly, fingers twitching to fidget with Harry’s intense stare. 

“What are you talking about..”

“I’m talking about how I told you I’m into the daddy thing,” Louis’ stomach flips, “but you’re still off and hiding shit. You said it’s more than just the word, so tell me the rest of it and we can figure it out.” 

Louis stares down resolutely between them, heart somewhere between beats. God, he can’t even admit that shit to himself, he couldn’t dare say any of it to him. Doesn’t think he’ll ever say it to anyone ever. Ever ever. 

“I can’t do it again.” He says, can feel his own ears heating up and the sour taste in his mouth as he lies. 

“Which part exactly?”

“Any of it. It’s not, I’m not into it.” 

“You aren’t ready for it yet?”

Louis’ jaw clicks and he stands up, pacing away just so he doesn’t feel like he’s being stared down. He roots through the mini-fridge, finding it deliciously stocked, and yanks out a beer. 

“I don’t want to do it again. At all.” He says, looking right to Harry as he twists open the bottle, hoping the eye contact will make it more believable. He’s heavily trained to lie, has gotten away with lying to millions for  _years_. Surely he can lie now. 

“You want to stop the daddy thing? Or, or just stop the ‘us’ thing?” Harry stands up from the table, arms crossing and looking depressingly confused. Louis has to look away, pretend he’s checking the nutritional facts on the beer, stomach twisting and heart telling him to fix what he’s doing before he’s even done it. 

“All of it, H. It’s, um, I don’t want it anymore.” 

Harry’s quiet for long enough that he glances back up. The boy is staring in shock, eyes definitely a little glossy. Louis might cry. 

“You don’t want..me?” He asks, voice softer than Louis’ ever heard it, head shaking slightly like he can’t believe it. 

“You’re the one who said we’re mates first!” Louis says, half so he doesn’t have to answer and the other half just panicked exclaiming. He watches Harry blink twice and then very abruptly his expression cools to a blank stare. He looks away, to the floor. 

Instantly, Louis realises he’s putting up his walls, too. Can recognise the clenching of his jaw and the fall of his eyebrows that he also does when he’s pretending not to hate the womanising questions in an interview. Louis wonders if the boy can read him back just as well. 

A part of him hopes it’s true. Hopes Harry will step in close, tell him to stop being stupid. Kiss him and assure him that having feelings here won’t fuck everything up. 

“Right,” he says instead, “mates first. I’ll just.” 

Then he turns, and abruptly moves to leave. 

“You aren’t staying?” Louis asks before he can think not to, heart slamming in his chest. Harry stops, but doesn’t turn around. His shoulders are hitched up, tense. 

“If you want to stop, what would I stay for?” Harry asks, slowly and carefully. 

“Right, yeah. Sorry.” Louis murmurs, quiet enough that he doesn’t even know if he could be heard. He watches Harry as the boy’s fists clench and unclench at his sides, before he leaves with a slam of the door. 

Louis stands there for a few tense minutes, confused and annoyed, mostly at himself. Harry seemed hurt, and Louis doesn’t know which part did it. Is it because he won’t be able to get off as easily now? 

He knows it isn’t because of the daddy thing. Knows Harry was only going along with that to keep him pleased. Then a little part of him wonders if maybe Harry’s hurt because perhaps he was having feelings too, and Louis just essentially broke up with him. 

That little spark of hope gets washed away within seconds. Like he said, Harry is the one who always says they’re best mates first. First and foremost. The kissing and the sex was just for easy mutual satisfaction. 

He sets down his full beer, suddenly not thirsty anymore, and climbs into the bed and right under the duvet. Pulling a pillow to his chest, he exhales shakily as he realises what he’s just done. He’s just stopped his and Harry’s thing. That means no more touching him, no more kissing him, no more slipping into that stupid little mindset that makes him feel so good. 

Louis knows he can’t continue it with feelings. Knows it isn’t fair for Harry for him to be taking advantage of their time together without telling the boy that he’s interpreting it a little differently. 

Still, it sucks. Just when he’s realised he wants more, he dwindled it down to nothing. Even as he knows he’s doing the right thing, it still hurts. He tugs the duvet tighter around himself, trying to block out the lights he forgot to turn off because Harry always did that. Always turned off the lights for them to sleep. 

He falls asleep with wet eyes and a hole in his chest. 

-

The next day is fucking terribly tense, if he does say so himself. 

He thought it would be fine, that he could walk in and pretend everything was normal and his whole world hasn’t shifted, but apparently Harry didn’t have the same plan. 

The boy is actively ignoring him. 

It’s subtle, because on a normal day like this where they have a VIP meet and a meeting and soundcheck before a show, they’re surrounded by people who could take photos, so they keep their trained distance from each other and don’t engage as they’re always supposed to. Only now, Harry’s ignoring him. 

So when he subtly glances down the line of boys between photos with VIPs and catches Harry’s eye, the boy looks away immediately, jaw tightening. Usually, he holds his gaze for a moment longer, or he will smile when he looks away, meant for him. Louis swallows and lets his eyes fall as well before he’s caught himself, stomach tumbling with confusion. 

Then at the meeting, bunched up on a few sofas while people in suits go over something probably important, they just happened to be sat next to each other. 

He’s distracted because of that, feels tingly in every spot they’re barely touching. The meeting is with just tour management, so usually they would drop the act a bit, maybe lean into each other or at least whisper rude innuendoes about Dave’s pencil stache, giggling like children until someone reminds them to pay attention. 

Harry is stock still next to him, not even looking in his general direction, and if he didn’t think he were being ignored before, he definitely knows he is now. 

The confirmation sits in him all wrong, pinches at his skin and makes him want to act out. Yell something stupid just so the boy will look at him even once today. God,  _he’s_ the one who’s always stressing they’re just friends.

Louis doesn’t realise his leg has started bouncing and causing his heel to make an annoying tapping sound on the marble floor until Harry’s hand reaches down and settles on his lower thigh, big and warm. His brain fizzles, leg stopping immediately, and head jerking over to look at him. 

Harry yanks his hand away like his leg’s on fire, and clasps his hands together in his lap so tightly his knuckles are white. His cheeks are pinking just slightly, and he stares straight ahead even though he most definitely can feel the stare on him. 

It’s like he didn’t mean to do it, and maybe they’re both realising just how often he does do things like that. Calming Louis when he gets wriggly in a meeting. Taking care of him even in the smallest of ways. Like it’s second nature. 

Louis looks away, back to his own lap, throat dry. He doesn’t have a single clue what this meeting is about, but he can’t find it in him to force his attention to it. He wants Harry to touch him again. Selfishly wants his hands all over him all the time, even if he knows is a bad idea. Knows it means something a little different to him than it does to the boy. 

His leg starts bouncing again while he’s thinking about it. Harry doesn’t reach over and stop it this time. 

Essentially, Louis hates being ignored. By anyone, yes, but when Harry does it it makes him want to throw himself right out of a moving car. The worst part is he wants to complain about it, but the only person who can properly listen to him complain without getting annoyed themselves, is the exact person who is ignoring him. Which just gets him more on edge. 

It makes him act out, get louder and more annoying, just in the silent hope that Harry will snap and tell him to shut up. Any attention is better than none, he thinks.

“The fuck is going on with you today?” Liam asks at sound check, in the few minutes between two songs when tech is making sure the big screens work properly. 

“Nothing. I’m ace, mate. Why? Something wrong with you? You sick? If you’re sick don’t come near me, can’t have another hay-fever scare in the middle of—“

“Right, so what’s wrong?” Liam steps closer, and Louis looks up from Niall’s shoes with a frown. 

“What’s with the interrogation?”

“It’s just a question. You’re more defensive right now than ever, Harry’s moping around like a kicked puppy, and you-“

“What the fuck does his attitude have to do with me?” 

“Come on, Lou. We both know you’d never do that to him normally.” Liam pointedly glances down. Louis follows his eyes, looking at the sharpie in his hand and Harry’s stupid running trainers. He’s only sharpied in half of one of the soles, but he puts the cap on the pen and tosses it away. 

“I do shit like this all the time. Just the other day I put cooked pasta noodles in Niall’s favourite snapback.”

“Right, but that’s Niall. I mean you don’t do it to Harry normally.”

“What—!”

“Seriously, tell me the last prank you pulled on him.” 

Louis frowns, heart sinking, because he knows exactly the last time he did. It was last tour during the American leg. They had been planning to meet in Louis’ room after a show, but then Harry got a call and had to go meet up with Kendall fucking Jenner for no reason. 

Louis had gotten annoyed and snuck into the boy’s room while he was gone and stole not only all of the complementary soaps and washes from the shower, but also the ones from his truck, and even his deodorant to top it off. Harry hadn’t gotten back until late, but he noticed immediately and came over, and Louis planned to be petulant and slam the door in his face. The plan fell flat when Harry stepped into the room and immediately pressed him against the wall, then snogged him until he couldn’t breathe, muttering about how much he hates PR stunts. 

Thinking back on it now, Louis realises he wasn’t annoyed because he was horny and cheated out of fixing that. He was annoyed because he was jealous. Cock blocked by a pretty and  _female_ model. Very suddenly, he wonders just how long he’s had these stupid feelings and not even realised that’s what they were. 

Without a word, he stands up from Harry’s shoes and walks right out of the room, back towards the stage in a daze. They need to finish sound check, but also, he doesn’t know how to respond to Liam. Doesn’t know how to admit that he only pranks Harry when he wants his attention. 

He hates that. How he craves those eyes and those hands on him so much, but also, he hates that he can’t find it in him to prank him on a normal day. Never realised how differently he treats him from the other boys. 

Maybe he’s had feelings all along, and that sort of scares the shit out of him. 

-

“Lewis, I hope you realise you’re across the entire planet and calling me at  _four_ in the fucking morning.”

“I think I’m in love with Harry Styles.”

The line is silent for a beat, then,

“Well I was wondering if you’d ever tell me. Shit, you getting married or something? Oh my god, are you calling to ask me to be your best man—“

“What?! No, Oli, what do you mean ‘ever’? I’ve only just realised!” He flicks ash from his fag angrily, watches it flutter through the air from the balcony of his room. He has to leave for their interview in about twenty minutes, but he’s a bit busy having an actual breakdown. 

“The fuck you mean? You told me years ago you two were fucking! I thought you were just embarrassed or something and not telling me how whipped you are?” Oli sounds genuinely confused, voice still raspy with sleep. 

“No, we’ve only ever just been, like, friends with benefits or whatever. He doesn’t—“

“I swear to Christ if you say he doesn’t feel the same.”

“Oli—“

“No, Lou, you’re an actual idiot. I’m going to guess you’ve fucked up and pushed him away, haven’t you? I’m going to hang up now, and you’re going to go fix it. Tell him you love him and he’s going to say it back and then you’ll get married and give me godchildren. Now don’t call back until you look at the time zones and see it’s not fucking  _4AM_ in London.” 

Oli hangs up, and Louis pulls his phone from his ear, jaw slacked at the dial tone. He’s mostly annoyed at the frankness that the boy’s given him, but a part of him is impressed at his ability to somehow know what’s happened just by the tone of his voice. It’s not really that much of a surprise. He talks to Oli about most of the emotional shit he’d be embarrassed to bring up to Stan or Liam. 

He pouts anyway, hands clammy just imagining following through with that order. As if he could just do that. Just walk up to Harry and tell him how he feels. It would fuck everything up, and why would Harry always tell him they’re friends first if he wanted more? 

He stabs his cigarette out, the taste suddenly gross in his mouth. He doesn’t want to do that. Couldn’t handle the rejection, or the loss of arguably his favourite person in the world. They’ve already talked about how the sex stuff has to end after tour anyway. 

Then, a horrible thought. What if Harry already knows? What if the reason he’s being ignored is because Harry does know he was lying the other day in his room? What if he knows Louis realised he’s has feelings and had to end it, and he’s trying to let him down gently by pretending he doesn’t exist? 

Oh god, then there’s Louis, desperately trying to get his attention, humiliating himself. Harry probably feels bad for him, knows he’s pathetic for it. 

“Fuck.” Louis whispers to himself, stomach turning with the thought that makes more sense the more he thinks about it. He’d wondered why Harry didn’t call him out for lying. Now he realises. The boy is too nice to do that. Knows Louis has feelings and doesn’t want to lead him on now that he knows. 

He steps off of the balcony and back into his room to get ready to leave, and has to press his palms hard into his eyes so he doesn’t just fall apart.

-

The worse part of it all, is how much he still craves him anyway. 

He tries to the best of his ability to ignore him back, be casual about it so the entire universe doesn’t know he’s fighting his feelings, but every time Harry so much as comes within his peripheral vision, it sends his body haywire. He wonders, randomly, if Harry would have called it off himself once Louis slipped up and made it too obvious. Or if the boy only realised when Louis called it off himself. 

It’s a lot of ‘what if’s, and he can’t stop it even if he tried. 

He wishes he’d known their last kiss was their last. He would have enjoyed it more, prolonged it and etched it to memory. 

-

Never mind,  _this_ is the worst part. 

Because even though they’re sort of fighting, and Harry doesn’t want him, and Louis is sort of heartbroken and definitely acting out more than normal, the boy is  _still_ taking care of him. 

Because he’d coughed, just once, during soundcheck, and now he’s back in the dressing room to get changed and there’s a throat lozenge resting right on his stand, sat in the circle of his mic-pack so he will definitely see it when he’s getting ready. 

There’s only one person who’s every been that tuned in to him. Only one person who carries that cherry flavour that he actually likes, rather than Liam’s gross medicine tasting ones, or Lou’s disgusting lemon ones. 

He picks up the small wrapped thing, and very slowly peeks over his shoulder, across the room to the opposite end where Harry’s station is set up. 

The boy is adjusting his own mic, fitting his plug ins in, green eyes already looking at him, like he was watching already. 

Louis inhales shakily, and lifts his hand, touches his fingers to his chin and then out towards him to sign. 

_ Thank you.  _

Harry smiles, small and private, and drops his plugs around his neck. He lifts his own hands, and drags a thumbs up across his other open palm. 

_Always_. 

Louis bites the inside of his cheek, heart slamming in his chest and hands shaking ever so slightly as he opens the lozenge and pops it into his mouth. Harry only looks away when Lou steps up to him, likely to bring him in to get him ready. 

He looks back to his cords, getting ready as he sucks on the medicine, and wonders if he’s looking too into it. No, knows he is. Knows that Harry always signs to him in such a sweet way. That he always gets him things without him even having to ask for it. Takes care of him. 

_Always_. It feels like a promise. That even though they both know Louis has fucked up and fallen for him, it doesn’t mean they’re ruined. If he truly wanted to stop being friends, he would’ve just simply signed ‘you’re welcome’, right? 

It feels like reassurance. Maybe Harry doesn’t hate him for messing them up. Maybe he just wants to go back to normal. Just best mates with no feelings. 

He wants that. Will take anything but this. Anything but ignoring each other and not talking. He wants to fix it, but how does he? He can’t remember a time before he and Harry hung out alone without at least a kiss or two happening at some point. They’ve always gotten on so well, banter coming easily and conversation flowing as if they haven’t talked about fucking everything. 

And when they would fall into comfortable silence, it was never awkward, because Louis would just continue running his hands through his hair, tangled together on the couch. Or Harry would lean in and they’d be too busy to talk anymore. 

He can’t imagine hanging out with him without touching him. Even in just a casual way. Doesn’t know how to touch him platonically. Is a hand on his arm while they’re joking platonic? What about the way they’ve always hugged while greeting each other? Is that different now? 

Louis doesn’t know how to even begin to assure Harry they can continue being friends and he won’t be weird, without being weird in the first place. Doesn’t know the boy’s boundaries now. Surely he wouldn’t want a casual cuddle session anymore. 

He just doesn’t know what to do. 

-

Instead of thinking it over and putting in the mental work to start the whole ‘fixing it’ thing, he decides to order a nice expensive bottle of wine from room service that night and nurse it all alone in his bed like a fucking heartbroken mum or something. 

Bottle significantly lighter than when it arrived and telly playing noir films because it’s so late, he finally lets himself cry about it. 

It’s not just the frustration of unrequited feelings, either. It’s also the fact that he’s fucking horny and nobody’s gotten him off in five fucking years other than Harry fucking Styles. Who he might be in love with and likely has been ever since he was eighteen and taller than him. And now he can’t have that. God, he called him  _daddy_ , what the fuck. 

Tipsy and eyelashes clumped with tears, he accidentally spills some of the wine on the front of his shirt, and he looks down he realises it’s not even his own shirt. It’s Harry’s stupid yellow t-shirt that’s gone between their packs a few times. Like a lot of their clothes, left in each other’s rooms or shared enough times that they forget who originally even owned it. 

And he’s just in every fucking part of his life, isn’t he? Can’t escape him even if he wanted to. God, he wants him in every way he could possibly have him. 

Doesn’t realise he’s fumbled for his phone and is calling him until the boy answers. 

“Lou?” Harry’s voice comes through a bit slower than usual, like he was asleep. 

“I..spilled wine on your shirt,” Louis says dumbly, lifts his hand from the wine bottle to touch at the stain, which only leads the bottle to fall over and spill all over the bed, “and..all over the bed.”

“Why’re you pissed right now? We have a show tomorrow.” Harry’s sounds vaguely disappointed, and it curls into Louis’ stomach like arousal, because he’s a fucking weirdo who likes the cross tone on his tongue. He watches the wine spread through the probably expensive comforter, and does nothing to stop it. It’s not the first time they’ve had to sheepishly sign a nice big cheque for a hotel after making a mess. 

“Dunno. Wanted to feel nice.” He murmurs. 

“Do you,” Harry pauses, and there’s some rustling like he’s rolling over, “do you want to come to mine?” 

“Yes.” Louis breathes immediately, probably sounding pathetically desperate. It takes him a few seconds to realise he probably shouldn’t have agreed, but Harry’s already telling him his room number, reminding him to remove the sheets from the bed before he leaves so the wine doesn’t get on the mattress. 

“Okay.” He murmurs, already sitting up and pulling at the comforter with his free hand, shaking a bit with the head rush of standing up too fast. 

“Okay. See you in a minute.” The boys hangs up, and Louis sets the nearly empty bottle on the bedside table and drops all of the bed clothes on the floor, checking the mattress to see it didn’t seep through yet, thankfully. 

He sways a bit and pockets his phone, foregoing shoes and barely remembering to grab his own room’s keycard before he’s stepping out and making his way down the hall to the other end where Harry’s is. 

At the door, he lifts up a hand to knock but frowns, somewhere deep in his muddled brain telling him this isn’t what he should do. That he’s meant to be keeping his distance so Harry doesn’t feel uncomfortable. 

He sniffles at his own self-pity, and considers leaving, but the door swings open like the boy could hear him. Maybe he was waiting on the other side. Maybe he saw him being pathetic through the peep hole. God, that’d be embarrassing. 

“You were crying?” Harry eyes, eyebrows knitting as he reaches out and gently tugs him inside. The door swings shut next to them, and Louis sags against the wall next to it, mouth dry just at the sight of him. He feels like he hasn’t touched him in years. Decades. 

“No.” He mumbles, lying terribly if Harry’s sad smile is anything to go by. 

“Do you want some water, then? To sober up.”

“I want,”  _to fix this,_ he intends to say, “you so bad.” He slurs instead. 

Harry’s eyes widen, and then drag down between them, throat working. Louis doesn’t need to look to know he’s wriggling, fattening up in his joggers. God, Harry’s lips are so bitten-pink all the fucking time. 

“You do?” 

“Y-yeah. All the time.” Louis whispers, voice cracking when Harry suddenly steps in, closing the distance between them. His hand lifts up and settles on the wall next to his head like a frat boy, his other touching his hip, slipping between his shirt and joggers to touch at his skin there. Louis’ head tips back against the wall to maintain eye contact, reaching out to cling onto his jumper immediately. 

“Are you only saying this because you’re pissed? Because you were sort of saying the opposite the other day.” 

“I lied, I.. _oh_.” His eyes flutter closed when Harry’s head ducks, lips latching right onto his neck. He tilts his head to the side, giving him room, stomach swirling with want. 

“You lied to me?” Harry asks, and he sounds angry about it, voice dark and about ten octaves lower than his usual speaking voice, right by his ear as his lips still drag over his skin, fingers tight enough to hurt a bit on his hip. 

Louis’ knees abruptly feel like jelly, hands clutching him like a lifeline. 

“I’m s-sorry.” He whimpers. 

“Not good enough, baby. Don’t think I can forgive you.” 

Louis really loves when Harry calls him baby. He can’t really explain it. Can’t do anything but give in to the shaking of his knees and slide down the wall, hands moving to Harry’s waistband and eyes flying up to meet his. 

“M’sorry.” He says, and Harry looks shocked, pupils blown as Louis drags Harry’s briefs down, just in the little things since he’d been sleeping. 

“Oh, fuck.” Harry whispers above him, at about the same time Louis lifts his chin and takes him in. He’s a bit sloppier than normal, uncoordinated and admittedly a bit desperate, but the boy seems to be enjoying it anyway. 

Louis tries better, circling a hand around the base of his cock, flattening his tongue as he sucks hard. Harry moans, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine, makes him want to reach down and palm himself. He’s too uncoordinated to try and multitask right now, though. Doesn’t even know if it’s the alcohol or the mindset he’s in or maybe both. Either way he feels fuzzy. 

“Not too deep, gotta sing tomorrow.” Harry says. It sounds like a warning, but Louis’ brows furrow, feeling like that’s quite unfair. He’s down here to  _please_ him after all. Does the boy think he can’t take him in or something? To prove he can, Louis removes his hand from the base of his cock and sinks down and down and—

“What did I just say?” Harry’s hand fists into his hair and yanks him off. Louis’ mouth is open, jaw sore, saliva dripping from his chin and eyes glossy as he looks up at him in confusion. 

“Wanna—“

“You’re not being a good boy, Louis.” Harry says, eyes dark. 

Something sort of clicks in Louis, and he shudders, body relaxing against the wall, chin falling to his chest like he’s bowing or something. 

“I’m s-sorry, daddy.” He chokes, reaching out and touching at Harry’s ankle, heart stuttering as he touches the ink there.  _Dance again_. 

“C’mere, Lou.” Harry murmurs, and reaches down for his elbows, helping him to stand. He pulls him over to the bed, and Louis tries very hard to keep one foot in front of the other, and lies down on the mattress when the back of his knees hit it, chest heaving with anticipation. 

Harry leans between his legs and kisses him all soft and lovely. It feels sweet despite how tightly he’s holding his hip. 

“Don’t want you to regret this in the mornin’.” The boy pulls back to say, eyes searching his. Louis tugs at his jumper, always wanting him closer. 

“Won’t. Could never regret it with you.” 

“Dunno if I can trust you right now. You’ve said plenty of shit while drunk.” 

Louis sighs dramatically, arches up against him to chase any friction whatsoever. It doesn’t work, and he whines in frustration, legs twitching to wrap around him and pull him closer, but he can’t seem to remember how to work that into happening. 

“See? You’re sloppy right now. Do you even remember calling us off the other day? Surely you know why.” 

“Don’t make fun of me.” Louis murmurs, that fuzzy feeling fading by the second. He starts to squirm, feeling pinned down more by the intense stare and less by the hands on his hips. 

“I’m not, I’m just confused. I thought I knew why you wanted to stop but now I’m not so sure.” 

“Doesn’t matter.  _Please_ stop talking.” Louis throws a hand over his eyes, cheeks flaming red. Harry huffs a laugh, and when he runs his hands up his torso he takes the yellow shirt along with it, sending goose pimples all up his sides. 

“Alright, we’ll talk tomorrow. So bossy for such a little body.” 

“M’not little.” Louis mumbles, still hiding under his arm, feeling hot all over at his words. He wishes he didn’t like it so much. Wishes he didn’t  _want_ it so much. 

“You are. My little boy, aren’t you?” 

Louis whimpers, nodding as that fuzzy feeling washes over him quicker than he can prepare for. God, it really doesn’t take much, does it?

“Words, baby.”

“Yeah. M’yours.” Louis whispers, hating how true it is. In more ways than one. In every possible way. 

“You are. And I’m yours.” 

“No—“ Louis chokes, because he isn’t. He isn’t actually his. Not in the ways he wants, which is all of them. 

“Shh, I am,” Harry reaches in and moves his hand, then there’s lips against his, soft and sure, “you know I am. Have been since the moment we met.” 

Louis’ eyes well, and he isn’t even sure why exactly, but he kisses back as sweetly as he can manage, threading shaky fingers through his curls. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” Harry asks in a hushed murmur, pulling back just an inch, thumb swiping his tears. He’s all over him, filling every one of his senses, and Louis can’t breathe in the best way. Wants it to be like this all the time, but he knows Harry isn’t talking about the same thing he is. Knows Harry is just talking about the sex or the daddy shit. Isn’t talking about everything else they aren’t. The everything Louis wants so bad that it aches through his veins and hurts like a stomach ache. 

“N-not mine.” He chokes, and it’s not even close to what he wants to say, but even in his inebriated mind he knows he doesn’t want to admit it all tonight. Not when he’s pissed and fuzzy and trapped under him so he can’t flee when he’s rejected. 

“I am, Louis. I’m yours.”

“Mine.” He says in a whisper, falling into the trap of false hope, too weak to fight it off anymore. He can’t open his eyes, couldn’t handle seeing the lie in those pretty green eyes. 

“Yours. Tell me what you want right now and I’ll give it to you.” His lips drag down over his collarbone, and Louis doesn’t let go of his hair, loving the feel of the long strands. He hopes Harry never cuts it, grows it out to his fucking knees. 

“Want you t’fuck me.” 

“Mm, naughty.” Harry says against his skin, like he’s a child who shouldn’t swear. Louis shivers, cock twitching. 

“S-sorry.” He turns his head to the side, embarrassed at how turned on he is just from such light words. 

“It’s alright, you can make it up to me. Still have to for the lying, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, whatever you want.” Louis bites the inside of his cheek when hands touch to the waistband of his joggers, work on the tied strings. 

“I think, you roll over and don’t come until I say so, yeah?” 

Louis is turning immediately, cheek to the sheets and cock trapped dangerously good underneath him. Harry’s got him bent over the side of the mattress, so only his socked tip-toes touch the floor. It makes him feel small. 

His joggers are yanked down, and nothing happens for long enough that he starts to wriggle, eyes finally opening. He whines a bit, frustrated. 

“Want me to touch you?”

“Yes.” Louis breathes immediately. 

“Doesn’t sound like it.” He sounds disapproving, and when Louis realises what he wants, he feels a light wave of vertigo, cheeks feeling like they’re on fire. 

“Yes, daddy. Want you. Please.” He says breathlessly, eyes fluttering when Harry immediately touches him, hands kneading his arse. 

“Love when you get like this. You ever let anyone else be that for you?” He sounds jealous just asking, and it swirls through Louis and makes him want to make it worse. Make Harry dark and annoyed. He bites at his lip, stays quiet. 

Within seconds, Harry stills completely, hands stopping their kneading and drifting up to his hips. 

“Did you hear me?” 

“Yes.” Louis murmurs, but still doesn’t deny it. He hears Harry’s breath catch behind him, and then abruptly his arms are being moved, lifted from his sides and folded across the small of his back, leaving him pressed against the bed completely at his mercy. 

“Don’t fucking lie to me, baby.” Harry all but  _growls_ , and Louis’ jaw slacks, back arching wantonly. He never knew Harry could get like this. Never knew he could get exactly how Louis wants. The exact thing that makes him feel so out of it. 

“Please,” he gasps, and when a wet finger fucking finally reaches between his cheeks, he’s already drunk on it, pressing back against it. 

“I’m going to ask again: have you ever let anyone else do this?” 

“Do what?” Louis replies, shivering when Harry makes a frustrated noise and shoves a second finger in with the first. 

“Any of this. Have you ever let anyone else fuck you? Have you called anyone else your daddy?” He scissors his fingers, and Louis forgets the question altogether, moaning into the sheet. 

“Answer the question or I’ll step away and make you take care of yourself.” 

Louis whimpers, turning his head to the side so he can be heard, fingers twitching where they’re pinned behind his back. 

“N-no, s’only you. All of it.”

“Will you ever let anyone else do this? Or just me, for the rest of our lives?” 

Tears prickle hotly at Louis’ eyes, and he nods. He knows it’s empty promises, because Harry just wants the sex. He doesn’t want  _him_. Even in his intoxicated mind, he knows that. 

“Jus’ you. Always you.” He whispers, painfully true. He doesn’t think he’ll ever trust anyone else to do this for him. Or even be into it, for that matter. For a few moments, he finds himself feeling incredibly lucky for what he’s allowed to have with Harry. Even if he doesn’t get it all, he gets this for now, and maybe that’s just barely enough. 

“Such a good boy. I can’t wait. Gonna..take care of you forever.” Harry’s voice sounds a bit raspy, and then he’s leaning over him, fingers slipping away, lips pressing to his shoulder. 

“Want it, please.” Louis whimpers as his tears begin to fall. He wants forever with Harry so bad that it physically hurts. The boy presses sweet kisses over him, curls tickling his back, and Louis feels overwhelmed with emotion. 

“Shh, you have it, baby. Don’t cry.” He whispers his comforts, but it sounds a bit like he might be crying too, breath catching every few moments. 

“Harry—“ Louis whines, turning his face to the mattress underneath him, embarrassed at the emotions flying around the room, fuzzy and out of it despite the fact that they haven’t even done much. It’s a different feeling, for Harry to say he will take care of him forever. Not so much playing. It’s almost sobering. 

“Okay, okay, turn around.” The boy does most of the work anyway, rolling him over and pushing him up the bed. Louis gets the urge to cover his eyes as he’s exposed, cheeks heating as he gets an actual look at Harry’s blotchy cheeks and glossy eyes. He actually was crying as well. 

Louis reaches up, touches at the wet track down his cheek, wiping it away with a soft noise. 

“I want to give you everything.” Harry says, eyes wide and filled with too many emotions for Louis to even begin to decipher. 

“You already have.” Louis replies, just as soft, fingers drifting from his cheek to his hair, combing the ringlets at his temple back behind his ear. He may have to start carrying ties around his wrist for the boy. 

Harry looks like he wants to say more, but he bites at his lip, hikes up Louis’ legs around his waist instead, eyes trailing over him in such a heated way that he feels nervous. It’s strange, because they’ve done this a million times, in a million different positions, but it’s still different this time. Different because of what’s happened. The shift in control between them. Harry’s not just Harry anymore, and they both can feel it. 

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” Louis replies in a whisper, hands finding a spot on Harry’s biceps to cling onto as he lines himself up and fucking  _finally_ presses into him. It feels like it’s been years, for some reason. 

“Call me it again.” Harry mumbles, face dropping to his neck. Louis blinks dazedly for a moment, not even realising what he’s asking at first. 

“Daddy,” he says when he remembers, “so..full.” 

“Yeah?” Harry makes a huff of a noise that sounds almost like a laugh, pitching forward into him roughly. Louis shifts up the bed a bit with the movement and moans at the feeling of it. 

“Yeah. More, more.” Louis doesn’t have to beg for long, because Harry gives it to him immediately, folding him in half and fucking him hard and fast. It’s so good. It’s everything. 

Well, almost. 

“Tell me, baby.” Harry groans. It must be showing on his face, his head too muddled to remember to hide the unabashed  _want_ he seems to always be feeling. He doesn’t know how to ask for it without sounding insane. Isn’t even sure Harry would feel comfortable with it. 

Instead of asking, he just fumbles for the boy’s wrist, trails it up his own chest, and to his neck. Harry’s thrusts falter. 

“Lou—“

“Please,  _please_.” Louis whimpers, desperate and so damn close after what feels like hours of being on edge. Harry takes a breath above him, experimentally curls his hand around Louis’ neck without applying pressure, just feeling. He bares it for him, heart slamming in his chest. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” The boy says quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to, and slides his hand up his throat, nuzzled right up under his jaw. Louis pants in anticipation, hands grasping the duvet under them tightly. 

“Please, daddy.” He moans, opens his eyes to meet his, all hesitations and embarrassment flying out of the window. Harry swallows audibly, and starts to slowly pitch forward into him, thrusts long and hard. He does that three times, and then squeezes his fingers so gently he almost can’t feel it. 

Louis’ head tips back as he moans. It’s not even close to what he really wants him to do, but somehow it’s enough. It’s so much more than he ever thought he could get away with. A million times more than he ever thought he’d ask for. Right up there with the list of things he was sure he’d take to his grave. 

“You’re so beautiful, oh my god.” Harry mutters, voice low. He tilts down and presses a kiss to his exposed neck, hand still holding him bared. 

“T-tighter.” Louis whispers, clenching around him just at the thought. Harry’s thrusts go a bit erratic. He complies, tightens his fingers around his throat just enough to vaguely feel like he might be choked. 

Louis’ moans fall silent as he comes, eyes wet and thighs trembling. 

Harry fucks him through it, saying something about him being pretty. His hand falls away and he pulls out, hand wrapping around himself as his eyes fly over Louis’ shaking body. When he comes, he presses it to his stomach, adding to the mess already there. 

Louis feels floaty. Something a little more than just his intoxication. Something he can’t explain. Harry starts to pull away, and Louis reaches out for him, breath catching. 

“N-no—“

“I’m not leaving, baby. Just getting a flannel. Count to ten and I’ll be back.” He leans over him, touches a soft kiss to his swollen lips. 

He gets back at around six, wipes him down like he’s a baby, then pulls him up to the pillows. It’s all nice and dark. Harry always remembers to get the lights. 

“I know you wanted more, but I can’t do that without talking about it first, okay? Dangerous.” Harry pets over his hair, lips at his temple. Louis clings onto him, still a bit shaky, head still swirly. 

“Bad?” He murmurs, eyebrows knitting. 

“No, Lou. You were so good. The best boy. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re sober, okay?” 

“Okay, daddy.” Louis whispers, heart thump thump thumping. He wants to lay here like this forever. As long as he can. Safe in their little bubble where he doesn’t have to think and Harry will take care of everything. 

“I love you.” 

Louis blinks against his neck, fingers twitching as he feels a sudden wave of sobriety fall over him. 

They say it all the time. Every time they’re like this, too. Before they hang up the phone, or leave for their own rooms, or like now when they’re going to bed. Only, they haven’t exactly said it since Louis realised he has feelings for him. He hesitates, mouth opening but nothing coming out. How could he say it back now? When it means something different to him. 

He can’t say he loves Harry anymore. Not in the way he always has. His love is a bit more now. Incapacitating him every time they’re in the same room. Flowing through his veins and making his heart work twice as hard to stay steady. 

He told Oli he just thinks he’s in love with him, but he knows it’s set it stone. Even in his jumbled head, half asleep, fucked out, feeling small, pissed out of his mind, he still knows. He’s in love with Harry Styles. Maybe always has been. 

Fuck. 

He can’t do this again. Knows he can’t take advantage anymore. This was the last time, actually this time. With this in mind, he presses in closer to the boy who’s already snoring softly, and holds him close. Enjoy it while he can. 

-

He wakes up in what can only be described as an octopus hold. He smiles fondly, snuggling back into the arms around him. Usually Harry likes to little spoon, but they almost always end up like this by morning. Probably because Louis gets cold at night, and Harry just rolls over and pulls him in, subconsciously taking care of him. 

Abruptly, last night’s events come back all at once, and he tenses full-bodily. 

“Don’t panic.” Harry’s voice is soft in his ear. Like he’s been up for a while and this is his way of preventing Louis from fleeing the moment he wakes up. 

“I’m not.” Louis lies, squeezing his eyes shut as the blush rises to his cheeks immediately. Holy shit, he tried to get Harry to choke him last night. He can’t look that boy in the eye ever again, probably. 

“You are, I can feel your heartbeat. We have to talk.”

“We really don’t—“ 

“We do, and it’s long overdue. First, I want to apologise for letting you pull away when I promised I wouldn’t. I should’ve realised it was just you being defensive.”

“Harry.” Louis huffs, wriggling to try and escape the hold, but it’s quite a tight one. Harry’s got his legs trapped and everything. The fucker’s anticipated all his moves, holding him still everywhere. 

“Second, before you can even start to be embarrassed about last night, it was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. But I know breath play can be dangerous, so we both need to talk about it first. Do research or whatever.”

“Why the fuck do y’know the term for it, bloody hell.” Louis would very much like the bed to swallow him whole right about now, please. Fuck Harry and the fact that he knows the only way to get this conversation done is by literally holding him down. 

“I looked up lots of stuff after you almost said daddy that first time. Which means I’ve seen lots of shit. Which also means you can tell me everything you think will freak me out and we can try it.” 

“No—“

“Thirdly, while we’re on the topic, I’m so into this you have no clue. You don’t need to feel embarrassed or weird about it. I meant what I said last night. I want to do this for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Don’t say that.” Louis stills completely, stopping his squirming attempts to free himself. 

“Right. Lastly, I want you to stop thinking I don’t want this, because I do. I want everything. I know we avoid talking about it but god, Lou, I want  _everything_ with you.” 

“Please, Haz, don’t say that.” Louis breathes, heart slamming so hard in his chest he can feel it in his ears. Harry’s nose nuzzles into the back of his hair, lips touching to the nape of his neck. 

“Why don’t you believe me?” 

“You make it sound like you’re talking about more.”

“More?”

“Like, not just the friends with benefits thing or whatever.”

“And?”

Louis’ heart skips. He kicks his legs out and frees them, scrambling right up from the bed. He yanks his joggers on and whirls around, eyes wild when they meet Harry’s shocked ones. 

“I knew you fucking knew. That’s low, Harry, I never thought you’d do something like that.” He pulls on his shirt, a bit more stained than it was last night. Not quite just wine over the yellow fabric. 

“What are you on about?” Harry asks, sitting up and looking genuinely confused. 

“You! Taking advantage of the feelings shit to keep me around to get you off. It’s not—I can’t do that, okay? Last night was the last time, and then the tour will end in a few months and we can move onto our own lives and—“

“What? I’m still confused. What do you mean the ‘feelings shit’?” 

“Don’t play daft! You’ve been able to read me like a book for years. You  _know_ I’m in love with you and you can’t just use that for sex. I can’t—I can’t.” Louis’ eyes well, something hot and hurt stinging in his chest. Harry looks the perfect picture of shocked, eyes wide and mouth open wider. 

“Baby,” 

“Don’t. Fuck  _off_ with that, oh my god.” Louis points an admittedly shaky finger at him, yanks his keycard from where it’s fallen on the floor, and rushes out of the room while Harry is still frozen on his bed. 

God, how did he not see it before? Of course Harry knows. Maybe he only found out last night, but him saying all that about wanting everything? It’s empty promises, is what it is. The boy knows his version of everything isn’t quite the same as his. 

Back in his own room, Louis climbs right into the shower and turns it as hot as he can manage, and desperately tries to rid himself of the stench of sex. It will never happen again. Maybe, he and Harry will never be okay again. Maybe this is the beginning of the end. The landslide of their already strange relationship. 

He can only be glad he enjoyed their last night together, because he knows he will be thinking back on it. All the time. 

-

He’s half an hour late to soundcheck, and despite being immediately surrounded by Lou and Dan and fucking everyone trying to get him ready, Harry still steps right up in front of him. 

“Louis, can I speak to you?” He asks, polite despite the glint in his eyes. Louis swallows thickly and looks somewhere between them, avoiding his eyes. 

“Bit busy at the mo.” He responds, hoping Harry will hear the unspoken  _fuck off_. Lou’s eyes widen in his peripheral vision, hands faltering in his hair a bit. They’re in the green room, not exactly in private. There’s crew scattered all over the damn place. Security hired by the arena. People around that make them required to keep their media training on lock. Harry would normally never even approach him in here. 

“It’s urgent. There are some things I feel went unspoken in our last discussion.” 

“Sorry, was I unclear? Please piss off, thank you.” Louis narrows his eyes, voice steely, but Harry doesn’t look angry back. He just looks a bit sad, bottom lip red and a bit bruised like he’s been biting at it all morning. Louis feels a swirl of sourness in his gut. He’s never spoken like that to him. Not in a serious way. Not ever. 

“If you two need to speak alone, we can do this after soundcheck.” Lou offers, sounding intensely uncomfortable. 

“No, there’s nothing to speak about.”

“You didn’t let me respond to you this morning.” Harry says, voice still stupidly calm, but his eyes are all sparkly and wide. Louis can see his hands are shaking a bit. 

“I don’t need to hear it. I heard what you had to say.”

“You took it the wrong way. I’m not afraid to speak my peace in front of all these people, if you’re insistent on being difficult.” 

“Go ahead, see if I give a fuck.” Louis gives a look to Lou, who takes her hands away with a nervous smile. He stands up, steps right around Harry and towards the door that leads out to the hallways, fully intending to storm out. 

“Louis!” Harry calls after him, but he doesn’t stop, stepping into the crowded hallways where anyone with a staff pass can roam. Pretty much anyone besides fans. He knows Harry won’t say shit out here. Management would fucking kill them—

“Louis Tomlinson!” Harry  _shouts_ , voice loud and echoing in the hallway. Immediately, the people quiet around them. Someone trips over themselves in front of him, startled, and merch posters go everywhere, falling right out of the box they were holding, effectively blocking the path. Louis halts and turns on his heel, and finds Harry is just a couple doors down from him, eyes shiny in the fluorescents, paying exactly no mind to the people staring on, pretending to be minding their own business but most definitely not. 

“I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen years old and you’re a blabbering idiot if you think I could possibly be anything but completely gone for your arse!” He’s still shouting, the dickhead. People around them start murmuring. Someone from their management team immediately pulls out his phone, his hair practically greying within seconds. 

Louis can’t seem to find a regular breath, palms sweating up, cheeks heating. Is Harry seriously pulling a cliché public love confession? That fucker. 

“Are you  _serious_?” Louis asks in a hiss, glancing pointedly at the people around them. Harry starts to step closer, agonisingly slowly. 

“Yeah, I’m serious. If you won’t listen I’ll do it right here, then. I’ve been in love with you ever since the day I stepped into that toilet in Manchester and you ran into me and said ‘hi’ all shy, all quiet before you came out of your shell,”

“Harry, stop!” Louis says, chest heaving as people stop pretending to be busy and just blatantly stare. 

“I’ve known I want to spend forever with you ever since our first time in New York. You came to my room and gave me the entire pack of pens that you’d stolen from our photo shoot that day and all I could think about was wanting to marry you so I could hear about your petty crimes every day for my whole life,”

Louis crosses his arms, throat dry and eyes definitely  _not_ wet, thank you very much.

“When you pulled away the other day I thought it was because  _you_ realised  _I_ had feelings for you, and you didn’t want that. Then this morning I learned just how fucking oblivious you’ve been. I mean, seriously? The majority of our fan base has whole accounts dedicated to how clearly in love with you I am. Did you actually think I didn’t feel the same?” Harry huffs an incredulous laugh, stopping right in front of him. Louis sniffles with a sheepish shrug, arms crossed so tightly over his chest it hurts a bit. 

“You never said anything. You were always saying we’re best mates first.” He accuses, hating the way his voice shakes. 

“Well, yeah. Don’t you realise how scared I was that you’d find out and not want to.. _hang out_ anymore? I mean, shit, did you not notice how I’d FaceTime you nearly daily off-tour? Sometimes I’d search up where you were and fly there just in the hopes you’d hear I was around and invite me over.” Harry’s cheeks are pink now, but he’s smiling, dimples digging into his cheeks. 

“How did I not notice all that?” Louis asks in a hushed murmur, reaching up to wipe away a betraying tear. Fuck, there goes his plan to definitely not cry in front of their audience. 

“Dunno. You must be the only person in this entire universe who didn’t know I’m in love with you,” he pauses, smirking, “ _genuinely_ , seriously in love with you.” 

“Fuck off. I’m not kissing you in front of all these people.” Louis says with a huff of a laugh. God, those denials they’ve done we’re just horrible. Maybe the fact that he’s never just been able to say ‘no, we’re not together’ should have been a little more obvious. 

“I figured. I’m fine with taking the initiative.” Harry grins, and oh god he better not-

Louis squeaks as he’s yanked forward, arms uncrossing to instinctively catch himself as he stumbles. Harry pulls him close, cups his cheek, and presses their lips together right there in front of everyone. 

There’s a ragged cheer going through their gathered crowd, but Louis can’t seem to remember they exist, everything else just sort of falling away. He can feel Harry’s smile against his lips, and he reaches up to thread a hand through his hair. Holy shit, he feels the same. Has felt the same for far longer than Louis ever thought possible. Maybe that’s why he never realised, because Harry’s never treated him differently. There was never a shift. It was just always there, right in front of him. How could he be so blind?

Fuck, he accused Harry of using him. He reminds himself to make up for that later, probably with his mouth, and pulls away from the kiss before it can get dirty in front of everyone. Who knows who the fuck is looking at them right now. Did they just out themselves? Before they’ve even really started? 

Louis laughs, carefree and just annoyingly happy, tucking them together in a hug. Within seconds, there’s two more sets of arms circling around them. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is. It’s the same group hug he’s felt nearly daily for five years now. 

“Are we in lots of trouble?” Harry asks over his shoulder, sounding like he’s smiling. 

“So much,” Liam replies, also sounding like he’s smiling, “but it doesn’t even matter. I’m so happy for you two.”

“It’s about fuckin’ time.” Niall adds, voice somewhere close to Louis’ ear. 

He grins, turning his nose to Harry’s neck, and realises there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore. There’s nothing he has to let go of. Harry wants him. Wants everything, as he’d said last night. Everything. He feels on top of the world. 

-

An abrupt change in contract, three meetings, and about 48 signed NDAs later, that feeling still hasn’t settled. 

They ride separately back to the hotel, as they always do, but when Louis arrives a casual ten minutes later than Harry, the boy is waiting for him by the lift. They step inside, joke around with a guest who rides with them and seems to recognise them. When the guy steps off, Harry wordlessly takes his hand, tangling their fingers together. 

It feels like the start of something more. 

It feels like the start of everything. 

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: (I’m putting this in the bottom note to avoid spoilers)  
> this fic has some shit in it that should never be done IRL. guys,. Pls don’t try out new kinks without previous, SOBER discussion and consent. This is very important and breath play is legitimately dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. Never agree to try something new out in bed if your partner isn’t in the right state of mind to properly ask for it. Just because I write something does NOT mean it’s okay. This fic was literally just to get my itch to write daddy kink out of my head, and should not be taken seriously. x
> 
> PS: if the fic feels unfinished, it’s bc it is. I purposefully left various plot points and things undiscussed or unwritten, that way next time I feel like writing daddykink, I can come back in with a sequel 😈


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